Breathless
by Fleetfieth
Summary: Left for dead by those he once loved, the Frostwolfe is on a path for revenge, forged in the fires of blood and steel. Where will this road take him? OC/RWBY. AU set before the fall of Beacon. M/A Mature Audiences - Course language, violence.
1. Prologue

_'Betrayed''. 'Abandoned'. 'Forsaken'._  
Words that were whispered in the darkest recesses of my mind every waking moment.  
Dishonoured by my own, people that I once called family, and left to rot.  
I built the very foundations that they live upon! I brought them all together! I gave them hope, a second chance, when no one else would!  
And I, will be the one to shatter everything they hold dear.  
I am the Frostwolfe.  
I am coming.


	2. Chapter 1

It has been over a year now. Over a year since the Frostwolfe had lost everything he'd ever known. The once angry black-tailed wolf Faunus had grown into a life of solitude, far away from civilization, on a mountain with no path leading up nor down. It was not happiness he found up there, but peace, and distance from his past.  
A small wooden hut sat some 25 metres away from the cliff-face. A campfire, several tanning racks, a small firewood pile and a chicken coop and pen were scattered around the hut. A short walk away, a small lake was carved into the top of the mountain, its pristine waters thundering over the cliff, and a small selection of crops, such as corn, carrots, lettuce, coffee and tobacco, were growing on its banks. A sparse forest of spruce grew on the mountain top.  
Encounters with Grimm were rare, and even more so with Humans and Faunus. Everyday life was quiet, and followed a some form of routine.  
The Frostwolfe woke before sunrise, donned his clothing, and prepared for a hunt. He left the camp as the sun broke the horizon, his marksman's rifle, Bad Blood, in his hands. There were several different animal species that lived on the mountain, and only the night before, he noticed a group of wild boar roaming not too far from his camp. Going to where he'd seen them, he picked up their tracks and followed, jogging silently through the woodland. After a short time, he came across a fallen tree, where under its bare roots a hollow had been carved out. He took position, laying beside a boulder, and set Bad Blood up on its bipod. He only wanted one kill, but he could not afford to waste any ammunition on poor shots. He pulled a flashbang from a pack on his belt, its was handmade, and crude, but its mix of red (fire) and yellow (lightning) dust made for an effective non-lethal tool.  
He pulled the pin from the safety lever and tossed the flashbang into the hollow, and after a small explosion, a singular of boars numbering 7 total bolted out and ran for the trees. One of them ran nearly straight ahead of the wolf. He lined the swine up, peering through the scope on the rifle, and after a deep breath, he pulled the trigger. The boar collapsed to the ground, screeching in pain. He ran to it, slinging the gun on his back, pulling out a hunting knife and slitting the beasts throat.  
It didn't take too long to get it back to camp, where he skinned and gutted his kill. The hide was strung to a tanning rack, the innards thrown over the cliff and the meat wrapped and put in a coolbox inside the cabin. The sun was climbing the morning sky and there was little to do. He tinkered around with his various little projects, wasting time as best he could.  
As midday drew near, the wind changed. Every so often, he heard what sounded like a distant voice on the wind, but it was easy to make something out of nothing, so he just shook his head and carried on. After awhile, he started to feel uncomfortable, as if he were being watched, he took in the surrounds of his camp, careful not to give anything away. With half a seconds movement, he turned around and fired Bad Blood into the trees, where he could have sworn he saw someone, but there was nothing.  
He kept looking, taking in everything, and then a shot rang out and he was driven into the ground, Bad Blood flying out of reach. He awoke hazy, the force of a boot on his chest, and saw fiery golden locks and blood red eyes.


End file.
